


Nightlight

by moonlightxtweek



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 15:40:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8108047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlightxtweek/pseuds/moonlightxtweek
Summary: A depressed artist and a paranoid cop find an unusual friendship and love as their own backstories are recalled and it's shown how they found solace and comfort in each other, and slowly begin to realize the world isn't as bad as it seems





	1. Chapter 1

Gregory had been painting for as long as he could remember. When he was little he would hide under the table during the warm afternoons and paint anything either that he saw or that came to mind, absolutely anything. From the fluorescent trees that peeked in at them through the windows to the floral pattern of their table cloth that still looked fashionable even when caked with stains from prior meals.   
Nothing was off limits, not even the little flies that would gather around the garbage can when the maid had just dropped off their rotten foods.  
Painting provided a release for him, he could express himself through the colors in his canvas and put subliminal messages in his paintings to express his true feelings. 

 

Life was rather mediocre for him in the beginning, it was the typical life of a British boy in a rich family. Fancy foods and white outfits, almost like something you'd see on the cover of a movie. He wouldn't have said he was happy with his life at that point, but rather content. Gregory felt no need to change it nor did he feel it could get any better. It was perfect the way it was.  
That perfection didn't last however, when Gregory hit the age of 14 he began to see the world for how some people might believe it truly was. Shit.   
The fancy foods and proper outfits that left no impression on him before now left him feeling like he was a doll to be shown off as a trophy.

‘Look at my son, clad in his white coat, jewelry around his neck. Look at my son, posh with the latest trends and styles, look at my trophy.  
Look at what I achieved with my kin, stare at him in envy and wish your next of kin where as delicate as mine.’

He would fill in the blank spaces of words his family never spoke but constantly thought. 

‘Look at my model son.’

Course that's all he was. A model, a model to be shown off and envied by his peers and such, he was no longer his parents only son, but rather their trophy.  
Their proof that they can make a son that they believed was greater than god himself.  
Look at what THEY could do.


	2. Chapter 2

Christophe was born in France, but was moved to England at a young age.  
However, Due to his entire family having French accents, he picked up on it and it never left him.

He lived an only child with his mother and father, who constantly spoke about how evil the world was and how awful it could be. His parents had been obsessed with negativity long before he was ever born, they always spoke about criminals and death, about tragedies and the reasons why. Christophe always listened, and worried as well,  
Would they hurt him? Would they hurt his family? Why was the world bad?

The more Christophe was surrounded by negativity and tragedy the more his paranoia grew. Due to his parents constant neglect of their son, considering they barely noticed when he was around and provided no comfort. They let him listen to them speak about the evils in the world, even going as far as to show it, which was one of the few times they'd actually pay attention to their only son. It was hard for him to leave his house without taking some form of weapon and thinking ‘what if someone tries to kill me today?’. His parents never knew, but he always brought a small knife everywhere he went.  
He always kept in mind that their could be the possibility that he'd be walking down the street and get mugged. If he had no way to defend himself, what would happen to him?  
That's what always sparked his paranoia, what if? What would happen? One thought led to another and the next thing he knew he was shaking under his bed clutching their largest kitchen knife to his chest.

 

That's why after high school Christophe decided to become a cop. He couldn't know for sure that someone else would be keeping people who might harm him off the streets, so therefore he had to be the one to do it himself. If he knew he caught a dangerous criminal and knew for a fact he was put away, then maybe, just maybe, he'd rest easier at night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My chapters are getting a little shitty, sorry.  
> Hopefully the next one will be better

Three years had passed, Gregory and Cristophe had both long since moved to America and Kyle, whom both knew as a mutual friend, had set them up on a blind date.  
Gregory had worn a simple suit, not bothering to go any farther, he didn't believe it would last. Happiness doesn't last.

Christophe had a black suit and heavy coat, he kept a gun and knife in his coat, his ‘blind date’ could be anyone. His date could be a spy, a traitor, an assassin, but of course he kept in mind that the guy also could be just a normal, regular citizen.  
They were told to meet each other at a restaurant called ‘La Fiyette’, apparently the entire restaurant had been rented out and it would be just them. So in other words Christophe just had to look for the only other guy in the restaurant.

 

The two met and gave a gentle wave as they seated themselves together, with a mild cough Gregory looked up at his date.

“So, what's your name?”  
“Christophe, you?”

He sighed and ran a hand through his luscious blonde hair 

“Gregory, im from Yardale.”  
“So you're British?”

The artist gave a nod, and asked if Christophe was French, which was a yes.  
After a bit of a silence the waitress brought them menus and Christophe started a conversation.

“So, what are your hobbies?”  
"I make art. It helps me express myself." 

The Frenchman nodded, looking around occasionally as he tapped his fingers against the table.  
‘Anyone can get me here’  
He thought to himself.  
Gregory noticed the tapping and looked at him, eyes seeming dead. 

“Are you ok?”  
“Nervous, I get that way a lot”

The artist nodded and sighed, looking down at his menu before placing it face down on the table.  
Their meal was silent and neither ate very much, but Christophe figured they'd do better on a walk, where they were more secluded.  
After paying and driving back to Gregory's home, the two later went back out into the cool open air and just walked, Gregory's arm gently snugged into his pockets.

“So, Gregory, is art a profession as well as hobby?" Gregory nodded “I'm an artist of all sorts, I don't just have one preference. I came here because The art programs in America offer better opportunities than in England, it's not like I'm any good at it anyway but I needed a degree and I wasn't getting any at home." 

The Frenchman nodded and spoke quietly "I'm sure you're a fine artist." He told him, his footsteps sounding rythmatic as he walked. Christophe could already tell from the accent he was English, and Gregory could tell a French accent a mile away. "I'm not, but thanks anyway." 

It was silent for a moment before Gregory spoke up again

“What brings you to this shithole they call America?" 

The brit questioned, looking up at the other for a response, his blue eyes sunken in from exhaustion. Christophe sighed a little and looked down.

“Why don't we go back to my place and I'll explain.”


	4. Chapter 4

Christophe drove Gregory back to his apartment, the car ride calmingly silent as the brit leaned against the window.  
He was a little surprised to say the least that the other hadn't yet pulled a knife on him or poisoned his food. That didn't mean it wouldn't happen though, but he couldn't really think like that, he had to at least TRY to trust Gregory.

As he drove he made note of how quiet the night was, it was unusually silent, especially for an urban city like theirs, but then again, what's there to complain about?  
After an hour he pulled into his driveway and they went inside,  
Christophe first went into the kitchen and made them some coffee before settling down.

“It was a better idea for me to talk about it in private, the people in the restaurant didn't need to hear”  
He told him, sliding him the coffee as he sat down and sighed.  
Gregory just watched on solemnly.

 

“I moved here when I was very little, you see, my entire family is very, very paranoid. I am too. When I lived in France my family was always weary of our neighbors, and I never really had any friends. I was afraid that if I got close to any of the kids they might turn on me, hurt me in some way.  
They would of if I let them in, but I never did, and my family never let anyone in either.

My father and mother always spoke about the evil people in this world, talking about them being out to get everyone. There's so much tragedy and darkness in the world,  
I witnessed it first hand too,  
My parents may have been obsessed with the evil in the world, but they also played a part in it.

Mother didn't pay attention to me, pretended I didn't exist. I'd still hear her talk frantically about this evil world, almost like she was afraid.  
Father was always yelling about how his life was horrible and it was the fault of the company he worked for, his friends, the rest of his family…”

The Frenchman sighed a little as he continued.

“My mother never spoke to me, didn't look at me, didn't acknowledge me, it was like I wasn't there.  
So of course, she never did anything when my father would relentlessly beat me and put the blame of his sad life on me, she did nothing.

Just listened to my screams.”

Christophe slowly rubbed the side of his coffee cup in an attempt to keep calm.

“He'd tell me it was my fault as he beat me, but I knew it wasn't. I'm no fool, I knew what he did was wrong and I knew it wasn't my fault, but I was always too afraid to tell anyone.

I didn't want to be put in foster care.”

Gregory gently moved his hand up and rested it against the others shoulder to comfort him, looking at him solemnly like he was trying to sympathize with him.  
Christophe shook and let a soft tear stream down his cheek.

“That's why I became a cop, I couldn't live with the fact that my parents were never brought to justice so instead I helped other people bring the people who wronged them to justice. It provides me with a sense of relief knowing that at the least people like my parents or worse are exactly where they belong and no one will go through what I did.”

“You're very brave, Christophe. Most people would have probably gone down the same path, but you were smart enough to know it was wrong and brace enough to try to stop it.  
I've never met anyone like you, but I'm glad I got the chance to meet you.”

 

Christophe closed his eyes as Gregory held him softly, their heads gently pressed together as the blondes arms held the Frenchmans and his arms clutched to Gregory like a lifeline.  
For once in his life, Christophe felt secure, safe, and Gregory didn't feel cripplingly depressed.  
He wasn't happy, but he was content, and that was a feeling he hadn't been given in a very long time.


End file.
